


In Dreams

by Sincestiel



Series: Tumblr Prompts [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Sibling Incest, Tumblr Prompt, Underage - Freeform, Wet Dream, but sam is sixteen, so it might not be underage for everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8839693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincestiel/pseuds/Sincestiel
Summary: This isn’t the first time Dean’s ever listened as Sam rutted himself through a wet dream and he has a routine.  Both of his hands stay far away from Sammy’s body.  He lies on his back and only allows his head to turn toward the slightly writhing form of his younger brother.  And he waits.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: Sam's first wet dream + pining!Dean ? Or anywhere else you might wanna go with this. (Wincest/Weecest)
> 
> I couldn't do the first wet dream bit because I feel I would have had to write Sam younger than this and I'm not really comfortable with going much younger than sixteen. So I apologize for that. I hope it doesn't ruin this for you, anon.

_Fuck_ , Dean thinks, one hand flying out to grip the side of the bed before he’s even all the way awake. He has just enough time to think about how grateful he is that their dad is still gone before he hears another whimper from across the bed. This one, the second one, wakes him fully and he slides his other hand up and underneath his pillow, fingers digging in as he clings to it.

This isn’t the first time Dean’s ever listened as Sam rutted himself through a wet dream and he has a routine. Both of his hands stay far away from Sammy’s body. He lies on his back and only allows his head to turn toward the slightly writhing form of his younger brother. And he waits.

Sometimes Sam gets through it on his own, his overheated body never crossing the invisible border that separates their sides of the bed during waking hours but disappears in the night. And sometimes, Dean’s favorite times, Sam drifts toward him. Sam wiggles and flops over, facing Dean. This might be one of the good times.

A few seconds later that thought is confirmed when Sam slowly inches his way across the bed, as if he’s drawn into Dean’s orbit even in sleep. And then Dean has Sam’s arm thrown over his torso. Sam’s hips follow the path of his upper body and soon he’s pushing his erection into the side of Dean’s thigh. The moment he makes contact with Dean’s skin, the fabric covering his dick already damp with pre-come, he moans and sets a pace.

It always starts out slow and Dean uses the time to catalogue every sigh, every whimper, every tiny noise Sam’s releases as he rolls his hips sinuously against Dean. Dean tightens his thigh muscle with every grind of Sam’s hips, offering as much friction as he can. And god if it doesn’t feel fucking amazing, Sam’s long, hard dick pressing rhythmically against him. He hates himself for how much he enjoys this.

He knows he should put a stop to it. He should wake Sam up and send him to the bathroom to finish. Or get up and retreat to the bathroom himself until Sam’s done. Or, better yet, insist they sleep in separate beds when they can. But Dean just can’t bring himself to do any of that. And he figures if he isn’t actively participating – and _no_ , flexing his thigh and getting hard as a fucking rock is _not_ participating – he isn’t really doing anything too horrible. Sure, Sam would probably be embarrassed and disgusted if he knew. But Sam is perpetually embarrassed these days and he always finds Dean rather disgusting. So that’s nothing out of the ordinary at least.

Sam’s fingers curl, gripping the front of Dean’s shirt as he fights to find some leverage and Dean shifts to accommodate him, bending his knee so that Sam can slide up and straddle it. And he does it so perfectly that Dean looks to make sure he’s not actually awake. But he’s not. His face is slightly pinched and his bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, but his eyes are still closed and he’s still making those soft little moans that he probably wouldn’t dare make if he were awake. But Dean loves them. He wishes he could ring those noises out of an awake and willing Sam instead of just taking whatever a sleeping Sam offers him.

“ _Dean_ … _yeah_ … _like that_ … _please_ …”

Sam moans into the side of Dean’s chest, burying his face in Dean’s t-shirt and inhaling deeply. Dean grits his teeth and tells himself the same thing he always does when Sam whispers his name like that. It’s just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. Sam can’t control what he dreams and if he could Dean would surely have no place in dreams like this. Nothing about Dean could ever get Sammy worked up, sweaty and hard like this.

Sam grumbles something unintelligible and tilts his head back. His open mouth finds the soft, sensitive skin on the inside of Dean’s bicep. His lips, warm and damp, drag over the flesh, the silky insides catching and clinging briefly. Sam groans and grinds hard into Dean’s thigh, hips working furiously as he rides Dean’s leg single-mindedly.

Dean’s jaw clenches tightly as his fingers dig into the mattress he’s still gripping with one hand. He wants to touch Sam so much. He almost always aches to touch Sam, but like this it’s so much more difficult to resist. Because, god, he _could_. He could get his hands all over his little brother’s body. Make him come so hard that maybe he wouldn’t even care when he woke up to find Dean’s mouth wrapped around his shaft.

Except he would. It would probably scar him for life. So Dean settles for subtly shifting his leg, changing the angle to mix it up a little for the sleeping boy. Boy. He’s just a boy, Dean reminds himself. Because, at sixteen, Sam is still such a slave to his hormones and Dean would do good to remember that.

Dean’s own cock is twitching and throbbing with every thrust of Sam’s and so the next urge Dean has to resist is the one to touch himself. But that’s more self-induced punishment than Dean trying to protect Sam. Because Dean, sick fuck that he is, doesn’t deserve to get off to this. Letting Sam rut against him until he creams in his underwear? Well, that’s one thing, right? Just Dean letting his constant need to take care of Sammy override his common sense. But if Dean gets off too? That would be crossing a line Dean can’t step over, no matter how much he toes at it.

Finally, _finally_ \- but also too goddamn soon – Sam’s hips lose all rhythm. His erratic thrusts increase in urgency until he stills, whimpering softly into Dean’s arm. Liquid heat spills out in delicious little spurts into Sam’s underwear as his cock pulses gently against Dean’s thigh. Dean’s feels it spread and seep through the material and he has to bite back a moan of his own as it marks his skin. God. If he could just taste – 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is rough with sleep and tinged with quickly developing shame. And it’s that, the way he shivers and tries to pull back in horror, that makes Dean forget to pretend he’s just waking up.

“’S okay,” Dean says, bringing his arm down to wrap around Sam’s back and hold him in place. “It’s fine. Not the first time, right? And it’s just… just hormones.”

Sam nods and turns his head again to press his face into Dean’s side and even through the material of his shirt, he can feel how hot Sam’s face is. And Dean understands. He really does. It hasn’t been that long since he went through this himself. He’s just relieved he never rubbed off against Sam. He doesn’t think he’d ever have been able to forgive himself for that. So yeah. He understands why Sam might be mortified.

“Really, Sammy. Don’t worry about it. I don’t even think…” Dean swallows hard and moves his leg a little, which causes Sam to realize he still has a death grip on the appendage with his thighs. Sam lets up and Dean nods, “Yeah. It’s just on my leg. Didn’t even get my boxers.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head before he nips at the side of Dean’s pectoral, obviously deciding not to dwell on his embarrassment. But when he lifts his head Dean can still see the pretty flush spread out over his cheeks from the faint light filtering through the blinds.

“Sorry,” Sam says with a shrug, scrunching up his nose in disgust as he peels himself off of Dean. It’s the cutest fucking thing and even if Dean was actually mad at him, he’s pretty sure that would have taken care of his anger completely. As it is it just twists nasty in his gut because cute and sexy are two things Sammy does so well and they mix so wrongright in Dean’s mind. The feeling crawls up Dean’s spine and he shudders once, uncontrollably. Sam just eyes him curiously before he slings the covers back, flinging them far and wide so they don’t drag through the mess on Sam’s crotch (which Dean is resolutely _not_ looking at) or the wetness shining in the moonlight on Dean’s leg.

Too late Dean realizes that his erection is standing tall for Sam’s viewing pleasure. He grabs for the covers, but his fingers just miss the blanket as it settles over his shins. For a moment, Dean’s heart stops and then drops like a lead weight as Sam’s gaze lingers at his crotch for just a beat too long. But then Sam’s eyes jerk away and land somewhere in the vicinity of Dean’s chest. 

He says, “Um… you care if I clean up before you hog the bathroom?” Sam waves his hand toward Dean’s cock as if to indicate it would be the reason for Dean occupying the restroom longer than is typically necessary. Dean doesn’t disagree. He also doesn’t apologize for what is, obviously, a wildly inappropriate erection. But Sam doesn’t seem bothered by that. Instead he scurries out of the bed and toward the crack of light emanating from the almost closed bathroom door.

Sam cleans up in record time. Seriously, the kid is back in less than two minutes in fresh underwear, his blush almost nonexistent now. And then Dean takes his turn. He doesn’t allow himself to really enjoy his release though, even if he does save the cleaning up bit until after. It’s only reasonable, after all, to wait until he’s finished to wipe Sam’s come off. Faster to clean up just once. Sure. That’s totally believable. 

But he jerks off perfunctorily, just to get the job done. Just so that he’s not climbing back into bed with his little brother with a hard dick. And he resists the urge to touch the spot where Sam came on him with anything other than the washcloth.

When he steps out of the bathroom, Sam is sitting up in the bed, blanket laid over his lap and hands folded neatly on top of it. He pulls back the covers on Dean’s side of the bed though, unknowingly thwarting Dean’s half-formed thought to slip into the other bed. Like he was going to do that anyway.

Dean slides under the covers and situates himself on his back. He shoves both hands under his head after one aborted move to touch Sam’s bare back. But the desire is still there several minutes later when Sam hasn’t even hinted at lying down. So he laces his fingers together and squeezes.

“Sammy? You gonna lie back down? It’s too early to get up,” Dean tries, hoping his encouragement will jolt Sam into action. But no dice. Instead he turns slightly, giving Dean a nice view of the muscle developing over his chest and abdomen. Dean averts his gaze, suddenly finding the ceiling extremely interesting. He just jacked off so the odds of pitching a tent right now are low. But he is on his back and Sam is as gorgeous as always so he’s taking no chances.

“Dean… if… were you… I…” Sam is usually very articulate so when he gets flustered, Dean starts to worry. But before he can figure out what, exactly, to say to cut off Sam’s almost incoherent babbling, Sam forges ahead with the most unlikely declaration, “Next time, if you want to wake me up, you know, before I jizz all over you, that’d be okay. I mean, I could help you get off too. That way I’m not the only one having all the fun.”

With that, while Dean is still gaping, mouth flopping open and closed like a fish, Sam lowers himself to the mattress and rolls over with his back to Dean. But he’s still close enough Dean can feel his body heat along his entire side. Close enough Dean could reach out and touch with next to no effort.

So, instead of denying what Sam obviously knows or saying something to potentially screw up the fanfuckingtastic offer that Sam just made, Dean rolls over too. He snaps his mouth shut even as he tentatively slides a shaky hand over Sam’s waist and then down to cup his bony hip.

Dean hears Sam release a trembling breath and then his body shifts backward just as Dean’s shifts forward. They settle in like that, front to back, and Dean refuses to call it cuddling. Just like, a few minutes later when his hand finally comes to rest over Sam’s lower belly, he doesn’t call the way Sam’s fingers entwine with his own ‘hand holding.’ But he’s not sure his denial does anything to change what’s actually happening. And that’s a-okay as far as he’s concerned. Because if there’s anyone in this world he’d be alright cuddling and holding hands with, that person is Sammy.

**Author's Note:**

> Customary tumblr plug: Hey, if you wanna follow me on [tumblr](http://sincestiel.tumblr.com/) that would be alright. Shoot me an [ask](http://sincestiel.tumblr.com/ask) if you have a prompt (Destiel, Wincestiel, Wincest, Cockles, J2) and we'll see what happens. :)


End file.
